


bullets in the shape (of your bloody smile)

by redunderfingernails



Series: poetry [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anger, Angst, Bad Poetry, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, I Don't Even Know, Pain, Poetry, References to Depression, Self-Destruction, Self-Esteem Issues, Smile, don't steal, it's 2am i have no idea what, mentions of abuse vaguely, mine, so many long metaphors, what are emotions ew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 15:44:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13837926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redunderfingernails/pseuds/redunderfingernails
Summary: Sometimes you used to smile at me, and it was like the whole world lived inside that smile. Oceans settled under tongue, land between mountains built like molars. An idyllic unreachable heaven hidden away in the folds of your cheeks and deep in the shadowed corners I could never reach, no matter how hard I tried. A fiery familiar hell storming in the back of your throat, flames licking harsh words, red-hot chains disguised as round vowels.(if i tried i could probably separate my life in the types of your smile)





	bullets in the shape (of your bloody smile)

Sometimes you used smile at me, and the part of my decaying brain which is forever five years old, scared and worried of never being enough, would set her jaw and think maybe maybe this time she will be. 

Sometimes when you’d smile at me, I’d feel strong and capable and okay and everything the world, the media, most humans with a dick and depressingly quite a few without, tells me I can’t be, because I wasn’t born with the right anatomy. 

Sometimes when you used smile at me, my skin would crack and loosen, finally fitting my jagged bones, light spilling out through the gaps, spelling a miracle only celestial beings have the power to perform, a priest with too-wide grins, wandering eyes and a nice laugh told me while my grandmother served him watery tea. “Only God has the ability to change the world, to perform miracles and unexplainable feats, sweetheart.” Even at six, that didn’t sound right, but I’d learned before not to draw his attention when it wasn’t necessary. My mother choked on her coffee, one autumn morning, four years later, when he was arrested for molestation and other ‘bad’ things no one ever seems to have the fucking balls or anger to talk about. 

Sometimes you’d smile, and I’d feel like I’m dying, dying because there’d be so much care and - there’d just be so very much in that smile and I’d just can’t. I never did know what to do with open honest emotion when it wasn’t pain or anger or anything that didn’t involve bleeding and bitten back tears. You told me you loved me for the first time when we were 10 and, rain was falling onto tangled hair, not yet a maybe and years from an almost. You told me, you loved me and I laughed because people just don’t. Your brows frowned and then your skin went blank and you smiled that too-wide smile, and for the first time, I wanted you to stop. You painted black and blue on my left wrist and told me I shouldn’t hurt others just because I thought I wasn’t worth shit. I nodded, ribs cracking and mouth dry, ‘cause I never wanted - no, and you smiled, white spray flashing off tumbling waves, and the world kept spinning. You kept telling me you loved me and eventually I started believing and the piece of me that would lash out with a “fuck off” and curled up fist every time you spoke those three little words, calmed. 

Sometimes, you’d smile and I’d feel like I’m dying, dying because it was too wide for all the wrong reasons and I’m sorry that I always fucked up. I’m sorry that I’d forget that you hate when I talk and talk and talk about numbers and space and why things work and all those stupid things I like and you’d get that blank look on your face and begin to paint, mostly in black and blue, but sometimes in red. I’m sorry that sometimes you’d smile big and bright and I’d flinch because I’m expecting a - 

Sometimes you’d smile and warmth would pool into my chest and down my bones, soft embers spilling between my toes, melting the frozen roots that have sunken deep into the crackling ground.

Sometimes you’d smile and I’d shackle that thing in my ribcage that constantly moves and screams and fights every step of the way because whenever you used to see it, you’d walk away.

Sometimes you used to smile at me, and it was like the whole world lived inside that smile. Oceans settled under tongue, land between mountains built like molars. An idyllic unreachable heaven hidden away in the folds of your cheeks and deep in the shadowed corners I could never reach, no matter how hard I tried. A fiery familiar hell storming in the back of your throat, flames licking harsh words, red-hot chains disguised as round vowels. 

Sometimes you’d smile and fire would burn in my stained veins, anger stoking the flames like gasoline because I’d kill him for you, this shadow full of alcohol and bitterness sprinkled with cruelty. This shadow that conjured fear and pain and terror blended among bruise coloured paint in dips of bone and curves of flesh.

Sometimes you’d smile and the sky wouldn’t burn and miracles wouldn’t shine through skin. Sometimes you’d just smile. I used to wish that happened more often.

Sometimes when you’d smile, fear and regret would sear deep scars into my lungs as you began to paint bruised fingertips circling my wrist and across the keyboard of my curved ribs. You’d whisper I deserve it and it’d sound like confusion and I’m sorry and I just worry. You’d hum I love you and it’d sound like frustration and why are you like this and just stop. 

Sometimes you’d smile, tight and disappointed, patronising annoyance festering in the corner of lips, and I’d want to scream I’m trying, I’m trying so fucking hard so just give me a break. I did once. It hurt to laugh after for a few days. The broken fingers took longer to heal.

Sometimes you’d smile, nighttime soft and sleepy, and I’d want to carve it off your face with shaking fingers and keep it in the back pocket of my ripped jeans because it hurt to look at, all good things do, but I wanted it all the same.

Sometimes when you used to smile at me, teeth bared and laughing eyes, my ribs would crack open and my lungs would expand in a breath full of smoke and dying stars, adrenaline and danger taking up too much space in my bones, forcing the grief and depression out. 

Sometimes you'd smile and the courtroom would hold its breath, waiting in that nervous anticipation that sends fizzling energy up your spine, tapping your fingers and clicking your tongue, waiting waiting waiting for the judges verdict, because when you'd smile like that, I never was able to read the words etched deep into the lines of your skin.

Sometimes you used to smile and now you don't, and even though it's been almost two years, I’m not sure which is worse. Because the bruises no longer ache and all the bones have long since healed but I still flinch at too-wide smiles while simultaneously wishing for the smaller ones.


End file.
